Confetti

{Ahem. Fast forward three weeks...}

Hi!

Allow me to re-tell a story. Once when I was a young mother we were preparing to go on vacation, taking a road trip a couple of states away. I do what you do in that situation: lists and crossing off and packing and re-packing and checking. Do I have enough diapers? Does everyone have pajamas? Where are the little busy things for the long car ride? Did I stop the mail? Who will water the plants? You know.

Finally, we pulled out of our neighborhood ready for the adventure. After a while, 3-year-old Lauren piped up from the back seat. 

"Mom, did you remember to bring my blankie?"

"Yep, here it is."

Silence.

"Mom?"

"Uh huh?"

"Did you bring pink bear?"

Silence. Quick calculation of how far we've already driven. Too far. Life would have to go on without pink bear.

"No.......I think I forgot it Lauren. I'm sorry!"

Silence.

"Mom. Can't you even remember two things?"

 . . . 

Every once in a while over the past month or so I've chided myself "can't you even juggle two things?" but then I remind myself that those Two Things actually include so very many pieces that it feels like juggling confetti. So I decided that juggling is overrated. It's completely the wrong metaphor for my life right now in this season. What's the point, really, in trying to juggle confetti?  If you have confetti, you should be enjoying how it floats around your head and admiring the colors. You should be celebrating. I'm not sure where to go with that analogy but those were my thoughts. Be in the moment. Be glad for the bounty. Don't be so tough on yourself. Be wise in choosing your metaphors.

All this is just to say that it's a little crazy sometimes but I am loving being surrounded in our particular blend of confetti.

looking cool - losing teeth
sewing patches - contemplating schools

dressing up for Oscars - enjoying early spring
promming - celebrating oreo's 100th

jury duty - lunchtime walks
Sound of Music costumes for Sam - Celtics Game with G

Texting transcript of the week

Today, 11:53 a.m.

. . .

Nothing like going to bio and spilling termites all over your lab partner and yourself../.

Oy. It'll make a good story someday...

He was cute though...he asked for my number, the termites were a good bonding experience...

Haha. Now that's a "meet cute."

>< He's an rm* though...hahaha. It was so embarrassing!!!!

Don't bring any of those termites home now!

:D I'll send them in a box specifically for you :)

Is he your lab partner for the rest of the semester?
If so, maybe he should wear protective clothing :)

:P if he sits by me. haha

. . .

*rm = returned missionary,  meaning he's over 21 years old having served a two-year mission for our church. We are gently encouraging our gal to avoid this variety of gentlemen at this stage in her life as they seem to be a bit more in a marrying frame of mind.

Prommed again

L. found her dream dress in SLC over spring break + loved that it had little cap sleeves

So sweet {^ note adoring younger sister looking on in the background...}

Prom group {we were rushed and it was hard to get a shot where everyone looked good. Sorry, T (in pink)}

 D & L. They've known each other since 3rd grade + have been close friends ever since.

 On the red carpet walk

. . .

What a difference a week makes! When we scheduled L's procedure, the doctor reassured us she would be up and at 'em and at prom the next weekend.  I had my doubts but, sure enough, she was back at school on Tuesday, in her flute recital on Thursday, and at junior prom on Friday. Amazing what the body can do and heal from.

Our high school has a nice tradition of all the families gathering at the school for a red carpet procession/photo op of all of the junior prom couples, then the kids all board busses and head to the hotel for the dance. They all return for pick-up at 11:30, safe and (most of them) sound. Lauren had a wonderful evening. Now her group of friends has a whole progressive activity evening planned tonight: fun, a dinner, an outdoor movie in our yard. The girls have taken over all the planning. Is that a thing now?

Paging EB White

Today was Lauren's pre-op day, filled with blood tests + medical interviews + an echocardiogram + waiting. (More on that in a bit.) If you have to be in a succession of waiting rooms, you could do worse than bringing along the Letters of EB White. The copy I have is satisfyingly tattered, a book that my parents gave to great-Grandma Brockbank in 1977 (the inscription is on the inside cover) and then later, meandering down through the line, it was given to me.

I'll admit I'm harboring a little long-held literary crush on Elwyn Brooks White. I can’t get enough of his New England wit and quick humor, his ease with sentiment and words. I knew he could write well, of course, but this open window to his personal friendships reveals much more of his warm soul and side glancing winks.

Back just two weeks after marrying his bride, Katherine, he sent her this poem*:

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unwinds a thread of his devising; 
A thin, premeditated rig
To use in rising. 

And all the journey down through space, 
In cool descent, and loyal-hearted, 
He builds a ladder to the place
From which he started. 

Thus I, gone forth, as spiders do, 
In spider's web a truth discerning, 
Attach one silken strand to you
For my returning.

Oh, those silken strands. Lately (and abundantly) I have felt their tug.

When I was in DC for meetings last week I felt it, triggered by the universal law that the needs and happenings at home seem to escalate as soon as I leave town!  One trip to the doctor, one trip to get an xray (everyone's fine), sad events at school...all within 36 hours. G valiantly kept the clockwork ticking, homefires burning, and fort held down in my absence--although he had to go in to work at 5:30 on Saturday morning to do some catching up from all that parenting. He graciously quipped, "well it was my turn to take someone to the doctor at least once in their lifetime" (true that!) but still. Thank goodness for cell phones and text messages, those latter-day placeholders for actual connection & conversation.

Tomorrow's surgery will be another tug. Truly, I am confident she will be fine. All will be well. We're all chins up, keeping calm and carrying on around here. But right now all I can see is the impossibly delicate weight of those silken strands.

*Hello, early glimmers of Charlotte's Web! His granddaughter Martha later commented that Charlotte typified Katherine, through and through.

Requiem aeternam

If you were sitting here at my kitchen table, I would tell you a long story about high school crushes, and a golden boy that everyone wanted to be like and liked by, and a heart-broken small town struggling with some kind of virus: its third youth suicide this year.  I would show you the long text conversations with my daughter at school--the I can't handle this, the I just talked to him recently, I sat next to him in math, the why would he do this.  We would sigh together, look out the window at the blossoming world and breathe in the scent of lilacs.

He wasn't mine to mourn but I mourn--for the possibilities he carried away with him and for the lost innocence of invincibility, that adolescent magical thinking. I keep thinking of the Housman poem--remember?

The time you won your town the race /We chaired you through the market-place; /Man and boy stood cheering by, /And home we brought you shoulder-high...

Now you will not swell the rout /Of lads that wore their honours out, /Runners whom renown outran /And the name died before the man...

And round that early-laurelled head /Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, /And find unwithered on its curls /The garland briefer than a girl's.

You would hear the lump in my throat as I told you about this same brave daughter who just weeks ago came into our room late at night and threw a lifeline to another friend facing similar challenges and stayed on the phone, G's hand resting on her back, until help arrived and hope was found. It's hard not to wonder What's going on here? and its close cousin What can I do?

It's hard to get into too many details here and it's really not mine to tell. Let's just say:

Life is fragile. 

You never know who is carrying around a heavy ache.

But I can show you the carving my dad sent us, an icon of my childhood walls made by his hands, that I opened yesterday:

Amen.

Hug someone extra tightly today.

Funky town

 

I've been in a bit of an annoying funk lately where my bear-like instincts are trying to dictate that I hibernate and growl a lot. Really.  I can't seem to get enough sleep and I feel cumbersome and effortful, like I'm trudging through honey. Normally I could get behind the follow your instincts approach but, no, following them right now would not be advisable. 

Instead it's time to pull out the Pollyanna/Music Man philosophy and decide to think happy.  To prime the happiness pump (which, after all takes energy before the pay-off) by stretching and exercising, praying and writing.

To find glittery bits of joy + pick them up + put them in my pocket: doing the newspaper crossword and sudoku every day. G rubbing my feet while we sit on the sofa. Walking with Louie, who happily trots ahead and loves life even when at the end of a leash. Eating fresh pineapple. Hot water and great smelling shampoo. Crossing things off of my lists. Bear hugs. Inside jokes. "I love you."

To tell myself "this is going to be a really great week!" and be willing to believe it, even if it means faking it for a while.   And it really is going to be a great week, with nice stretches of time today and tomorrow to get some things done. And I am heading to Utah on Thursday to speak on a panel at BYU for a symposium for students about education/career options and family/school/work balance. (I think I'm the representative for the going-back-to-grad-school-as-a-mom contingent.) Then I get to hang out with my parents for the weekend.

 Any other members of the hibernating bear brigade out there?  How do you pull out of a funk?

On not taking the road less traveled by

 

Just so you know, we will not be moving to Australia.

Probably you are not either?

We have been keeping this exciting possibility (Australia relocation) under our hats since late July, when G was told that he was one of a few attorneys in his company being considered to head up legal for the Australian branch of the company.  We didn't tell the kids (why get them all excited/nervous until we know for sure?), we didn't tell family (same reason), or local friends (it's so hard to be straddling the line between being here and leaving).  I did tell a couple of people who could know from afar and give me someplace to bubble up our news when I felt like I'd overflow (thanks, gals).

But the two of us, G and I, have talked about it a lot over the last months.  Most plans began with "If we're in Australia...." or "If we're still here..."  I admit, I looked into real estate and schools and church congregations.  I knew it wasn't a certainty but I did enjoy thinking about the possibility of starting all over in a faraway country (and continent!).  Unless I was worrying about going--moving the kids to a new country and new set of friends, distance from loved ones, missing our wonderful town.

Along the way, Australia came up in the oddest places. Almost every day someone mentioned it to me: they had lived there, were from there, wanted to go there. Was it a sign?!! 

No. We found out that someone else is going. Which is fine, really. We'll buy curtains finally and stay here longer. Now we know which set of advantages + blessings we keep. Plus I'm relieved for Lauren, who would have spent her junior and senior year there (is there a more impossible time to move?).

The thing is, I kind of like adventure and the road less traveled. Now I'm still just doing what I was doing before and where's the fun in that? (I know, I really do have a good situation here and it's a happy life but compared to Australia? Meh.)  It was fun carrying around this little nugget of a secret.

So long, Australia.  I had great hopes for us.

Also in other news: I am not pregnant. But for a while there (at least in my active imagination), I was raising a little caboose baby (12 to 17 years younger than the other kids) in Australia!

Why is hard to let go of something you never had?  And be relieved at the same time?

. . .

Best of 09 day 4: Best book. Fiction:  The Book Thief, a book I have been meaning to read for at least 2 years. I had started no less than 5 times before and never gotten past the first chapter.  Finally I did it this fall and loved it. I finished it on a Saturday afternoon on my bed. G came in as I was weeping profusely at the end and kissed me on the forehead.   Non fiction: Mindset.  I love Carol Dweck and her research. This is her general nonfiction book about her work, looking into how our mindsets (fixed traits or growth) affect effort and achievement.

XXXX

Okay.

I'm forty.

Just like Sesame Street

and (I learned today) Monty Python

and Brady Bunch

and people landing on the moon

and Woodstock

{1969 was a good year to be born.}

So far so good!

Yesterday (and a little bit this morning, to be honest)

was about the melancholy end of 30s.

Today is about the beginning of my 40s.

I have heard that it is a fabulous time and

I am going to embrace it with enthusiasm.

Do I feel a fun midlife crisis coming on? Maybe. What if I...

Cut my hair (or different color)

Train for a marathon (and, okay, run it)

Take up painting

Write a novel

Walk or bike across England

Stop blogging (I know. But maybe.)

Get a mammogram (Monday. Short range is good, too.)

Take my kids out of school and book a trip around the world with them (I wish.)

Buy some art.

Finish my PhD.

Don't finish my PhD.

Care less about what others think.

Laugh loudly.

Prune the unnecessary stress from my life.

Wander more, wonder more.

Connect.

* * *

Happy birthday to me #1:

Swell Season (the duo from the movie Once) are coming out with a new album next week and, to celebrate, NPR is streaming the entire album. Hooray!

Here's to finding more good music in the next decade!

Happy Birthday to me, #2
(saw this on marathonbird's twitter this morning)

I'm going to give myself more silliness in my life.

Happy Birthday to me, #3

Remember the viral video of the dancing/singing DoReMi in the train station?

I just found out that friend is creating a similar public art event in a town square in Guatemala next month.

So cool.

That just makes me happy.

Happy Birthday to me, #4

I'm loving all of the happy birthday wishes via email and facebook!

So lovely to connect with friends.

Happy Birthday to me #5

I have to go to class tonight

but tomorrow G is taking off work

and we're celebrating then with

lunch+museum+movie+together

Life is good.

* * *

painting Alma y Corazon by Cassandra Barney via

Mixed feelings

I love October with a passion and an ache. Every time I gasp in glee at a tree's audacious over-the-topness it is accompanied by a melancholy that remembers the longlong stark New England winter ahead. Sigh.

Here's a little something for wallowing in the melancholy side of fall. I first discovered Eva Cassidy about 11 years ago when we lived in DC (she had recently passed away, sadly). She still gets to me, every time.

And here's something to appreciate the cozy, happy side of fall. Just what I needed to read yesterday during a rainy gray fall day. I love autumn, love the seasons, love the chance to change what we wear and do and think about. And we do earn this glorious colorful span of time with our trudge through the quieter winter season. Right?

Speaking of mixed feelings, today is my last day as a thirtysomething. It's been a fantastic decade and I feel very lucky to be learning the things I'm learning with the people I love. But it's melancholy, too, you know?

The better to see you with, my dear

Breaking news: Miss Maddy needs glasses.

She's had trouble reading the board at school and some difficulty reading music when she's playing the violin. I've been putting her off, thinking it was not a big deal. Apparently, no, she wasn't faking. (Oh yeah, I forgot. That was me when I was her age. Man, I desperately wanted glasses back then for some reason.) The eye doctor said her near-sightedness will get progressively worse until she's about 19. At least that's what I heard and noted.

Here's what Maddy heard:
Your eyes will get worse and worse until you're blind at age 19.

We straightened that out in the car, where she was remarkably calm when she commented "that's so weird that I'll be blind by the time I'm 19." I would have been weeping and wailing and gnashing teeth. "Why?! Why?! How will I live without reading or seeing movies or seeing my future babies' faces? I have only six years to see! I need to take up the piano and learn to sing! Can I call my friends and tell them the dramatic news and get lots of sympathy?"

Not Maddy. She took it in stride, filed it away, and off-handedly commented about it 20 minutes later.

Does it seem unfair to anyone else that age 13 is typically accompanied by a whole slew of corrective implements, just when your self esteem and awareness are at their most fragile? Headgear, check. Retainer, check. Braces, on deck. Glasses, coming right up. Luckily she wears them well and takes it all in stride.